Page 14 of Enthralled

“Quick, inside,” Estrilde says. Oscar half-carries Ivor over the threshold. She pulls the doors shut behind us, and I get a glimpse into the space we’ve entered.

It’s a library. A vast, golden, incredible library, the most splendid space I’ve ever seen, with living branches twined together forming arrays of bookshelves many stories high. One has only to breathe in the aroma of words, of ideas, of pure power captured in ink on pages. Even in the midst of terror and confusion, the scope of it nearly stops my heart with wonder.

Then Estrilde is running again. My stomach drives into her sharp shoulder, and I can do nothing but grip the back of her gown, trying to push myself up, trying to find some equilibrium. Oscar and Ivor have picked up their pace now. The urgency of our situation infuses the broken man with unexpected strength. We climb a spiral stair to an upper level and around a set of shelves into a hidden wing of the library. My view extends behind us, and I see the lower library darkening, shadows creeping in along the floor and between the books like ooze.

I will find you,echoes the voice among many voices in my head.You cannot hide from me, Clara. You cannot escape.

“Thaddeus!” Ivor rasps. “Thaddeus Creakle, come out to me!”

A door opens. An old man appears from a back room, a quill in one hand, a penknife in the other. He blinks out from behind a pair of square spectacles set on the bridge of his nose. “Lord Ivor?” he gasps. A scream of terror bursts from his lips at the sight of Ivor’s ravaged face.

“Silence,” Ivor growls even as Oscar draws to a halt. “Thaddeus, you will obey me. I know you know where the gate to Vespre is hidden in this library. Tell me where it is, now!”

The old man backs away until he hits the wall of bookshelves behind him. He shakes his head. “I . . . I am no longer your Obligate, my lord. I belong to the Prince—”

In a few quick strides, Estrilde covers the distance between them, pressing the tip of her knife against the old man’s throat. “Take us to the gate, human,” she snarls. “Now!”

The poor man’s eyes bug from his skull. He catches my eye, and I see a flash of recognition, though I don’t know him at all. The sight of me seems to settle something in his mind, however, for he nods and whispers, “This way.”

The shadows all around us deepen, licking at our footsteps. The old man leads us swiftly to another floor of the library, up above the main atrium. It’s just a humble little door, one I would guess leads to storage. But the man indicates it with a wave of his arm, the long sleeve of his robe wafting. “There, Princess,” he says. “That is your way. But no one can open it besides the Prince.”

“We don’t need the Prince,” Estrilde says. With those words, shethunksme down so hard, I stagger and would fall if she didn’t catch my shoulder and keep me on my feet. “We have his Fatebound. She can open his gate.” I cry out as she forces me to the door and leans down to snarl in my ear, “Open it, Clara Darlington. Open it, or I shall gut your brother and let him bleed out before your eyes.”

I don’t understand what she’s saying, what she wants. I cannot comprehend what she expects to find behind this door. But the look in her eyes tells me she isn’t bluffing. She will kill my brother in a heartbeat, and she will feel no remorse.

Hand shaking, I reach out, grip the doorknob. When I turn it, a spark like an electric shock jolts up my arm. I jerk back, trying to let go, but my fingers seem to tighten, dragging the door open with me, revealing a dusty storage room full of boxes and oddments I cannot discern in the gloom. Then the air directly before my face shifts. A sudden sense of fallingrushes through my senses. I gasp and stagger back, arms wheeling, and only Estrilde’s grip on my shoulder keeps me upright.

“It worked!” Ivor hisses. “It bloody well work—”

The floor shakes. An echoingboomresounds through the library, and all the books on their shelves begin to whisper and shiver in dread. Darkness races up the walls on either side of us, an overwhelming flood.

You cannot run.

You cannot hide.

I will find you.

I will always find you.

Estrilde’s grip on my shoulder is gone. I am alone. Alone in this place of shadow and darkness. Alone save for . . . I turn sharply, searching. There! Just five paces away, Oscar stands isolated in a patch of pale light. His head swivels, his gaze seeking. When he sees me, his lips begin to form my name.

Then the Hollow Man steps between us.

He is not the vast, towering giant who looked down on me from the broken tower roof. Here in this space, he is a mere seven feet tall, hunched and twisted to fit within the confines of the library. Yet somehow space warps around him, making him enormous beyond comprehension. Dread sweeps over me under his shadow-licked gaze.

There you are, Clara.

I told you I would find you.

“Please,” I whimper and drop to my knees. My shaking hands rise in front of me, palms out, as though I might push him away. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

You are guilty.

You are false.

You are small and useless and wrong.

The truth of his words fills me up, burning through my heart, my soul. I feel in the very marrow of my bones my own worthlessness. I cannot run from it, cannot hide from this terrible truth. The Hollow Man steps forward. I hear the thud of a heartbeat inside his broken ribcage but see only darkness in those depths. A swallowing darkness, hungry and devouring. He stretches out one hand, those long, multi-jointed fingers reaching for my face, blocking out all else, all fear, all hope, all reason, all madness. There is nothing but my own inevitable consumption.

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